


An Okay Trade

by jesseofthenorth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Roque_clasique who wanted Dean with a bad leg.I gave her that and more besides. I blame her for screwing up my head canon and making him a smoker. Credit where credit is due, dudes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Okay Trade

Dean tries, he really does. He knows how much Sam hates it but he just- Fuck! He wants a cigarette so bad! He can smell it and taste and feel the gentle head rush. And it's been fucking forever!

“Tough shit!” Sam yells at him. “You want one so fucking bad? Go outside a fucking smoke one! But don't you god-damned dare ask me to help you Dean! Just don't!” Sam slams the door so hard the windows rattle.

Dean can't really blame him. The doctor spent 20 minutes explaining why Dean couldn't smoke if he wanted his leg to heal. Cartilege damage and smoking blah blah blah.

Dean hears the Impala come to life and tear away. He hears pea gravel hit the side of the cabin, a measure of how pissed his brother really is.

Sam has a right to be pissed he supposes. It still doesn't stop Dean from wanting one so damned bad he could scream. He is so wired up it feels like his skin is crawling off on its one and there is only one that makes that feeling go away these days.

Dean waits.

Maybe he's expecting Sam to relent and come back.

Nothing happens.

Dean reaches for his crutch and tries to pull himself to his feet without jarring anything. It's hopeless. Everything fucking hurts.

It would be easier to get to his feet if he had two crutches. And didn't have a cast on one arm. Okay so really two crutches wouldn't really do him a lot of good.

When he finally makes it to his feet Dean hobbles over to the door and tries to get his jacket on. It's a lost cause and he almost upends himself trying so Dean settles for draping it over his good shoulder. After making sure his smokes and lighter are in the pocket.

He fights his way through the door. It's a bitch to prop himself up on one crutch and pry open the door with and arm that wont bend. He's motivated though. It's been days.

God that cigarette is going to taste good!

He makes it. Barely, and leans up against the porch rail so his good hand his free.

It takes less than a minute to get one out and light it up. The first drag has that familiar acrid burn he has been dreaming of. He feels the smoke slip down and waits for the relief to hit.

What hits instead is biggest nastiest head rush in history. He feels his brain lurch one way and the world lurch another and the next thing that lurches is his stomach and then Dean is on his knees puking. And there is nothing he hates more than puking.

Dean tries to shake his head to clear and it and God that makes it so much worse and he's puking again and it feels like he's never going to stop.  
Dean reaches out for something to ground himself and its a whole new level of wrong because his feet go out from under him and Dean feels his knee give out and everything really lurches then.  
A wave of dizziness so overwhelming the world grays out rolls over Dean and it's all he can do to hang on.

He pukes until there is nothing left but strings of drool and his face is wet from sweat and probably tears.

Dean collapses onto his recently re-located shoulder and his entire leg feels like it's on fire.

It's a relief when he realizes he's going to pass out.

 

When he comes to again there is a warm hand on his back and his hand is wrapped around someones ankle. He really hopes it Sam's.

“Stupid so-of-a-bitch!” he hears. Yup definitely Sam. The warm hand on his back doesn't disappear though.

 

Sam drags him inside and is surprisingly gentle about it, even though Dean is pretty sure he doesn't deserve it. The gentleness.

Sam never was much for overt retaliation.

Sam peels off Dean's puke covered clothes and parks him in a hot shower just long enough to decontaminate. He wraps Dean in every towel they have and rolls him into bed as is. Sam piles on the covers until Dean can hardly move and then walks out of the room without a word.

Dean Winchester has never felt like a bigger asshole in his life.

There is nothing he can do about it right now. He goes to sleep instead.

He wakes up to full light and pain so fierce burning up his left leg it makes his lungs lock up. It's the only way he can keep all the sounds that want out, in.

He grits his teeth closes his eyes and tries to breathe until he hears “ Dean.”

Sam is there holding a glass of water and a brown pill bottle “Open” Sam says pressing a pill against Dean's lips. “Swallow”he says when the glass follows. Sam sits on the edge of the bed and puts that big warm hand on Dean's shoulder until the pills start to work.

Sam shifts like he wants to move away and Dean can't have that, not yet. He grabs for his brother's wrist “Sorry” Dean whispers.

Sam goes very still for a second then gently pulls the blankets up around Dean's shoulders “Don't you ever fucking do that to me again.”

“Okay Sammy” Dean says and doesn't let go of Sam's wrist until he falls asleep.

 

It only takes a day before Dean is feeling relatively human again. He wakes up to a glass of water, a pill, and a box of nicotine patches on the table beside his bed.

By the time he graduates from a crutch to a cane he is down to one low-dose patch a day.

When the snow is gone so are the patches. The cane isn't and he figures it's still an okay trade because Sam's still here too.


End file.
